The breathtaking, moonlit sight of Hogwarts Castle effectively wiped the lingering tension from the students' minds. Under Hagrid's booming instructions, the cluster of awestruck first-years made their way down a steep, muddy embankment to the edge of the great black lake, arriving at a quiet ferry crossing.
"Everyone on board!" Hagrid bellowed, his voice carrying over the dark water. "Remember, no more than four people to a boat!"
Alan, Charles, and Vivian quickly claimed one of the small wooden vessels, seamlessly joined by another young girl who hurried to catch up with them.
"Hi there, I'm Aliana. It's really nice to meet you all," the newcomer greeted them with a shy, tentative smile.
"Hello! I'm Vivian, and these two stoic guards are Alan and Charles," Vivian replied instantly, her talkative nature taking point. Without bothering to consult either of the boys, she immediately began delegating. "Now, let us ladies sit back and get comfortable, and we'll let you two gentlemen handle the manual labor of rowing the boat."
Alan and Charles exchanged a profoundly dry, speechless glance, but neither of them argued. They silently took their positions at the oars, fully prepared to row.
However, Alan's tactical observation quickly noted a distinct lack of physical resistance. The moment everyone was seated, the small wooden boats smoothly lurched forward on their own, gliding effortlessly across the glassy surface of the lake, entirely propelled by unseen magical currents.
"I overheard a rumor that only the first-years are required to cross the lake in these boats," the endlessly gossipy Vivian began to chatter, eager to fill the silence. "They say it's a deeply rooted tradition meant to let the new students physically retrace the exact arrival path taken by the four original founders. And the strict four-people-per-boat rule? Supposedly, it represents the four founders themselves."
Alan listened to her rapid-fire historical trivia in silence, his dark eyes locked on the magnificent, towering silhouette of Hogwarts as it drew closer and closer with every passing second. He couldn't help but wonder what those four legendary wizards had felt when they first approached this isolated cliffside centuries ago. But for now, the sheer, infectious excitement radiating from the other children in the boat was palpable.
"Alright, everyone out! All new students disembark and follow closely behind me," Hagrid instructed, holding his massive oil lamp high to pierce the gloom. After safely stepping off the enchanted boats, the massive cluster of first-years arrived at Hogwarts' very first structural outpost: an ancient, damp underground boathouse hidden beneath the cliff.
After filtering through the cavernous boathouse, they were faced with a winding, incredibly steep stone staircase carved directly into the rock face. The group laboriously climbed the treacherous path, muscles burning, until they finally breached the top of the cliff, emerging onto a vast expanse of manicured grass right in the imposing shadow of the great castle.
Following Hagrid's heavy footsteps, the exhausted but eager new students filed through a massive set of oak doors and into the cavernous entrance hall of Hogwarts. Standing sternly at the top of a sweeping marble staircase, waiting for them, was a familiar middle-aged witch clad in deep, emerald-green wizarding robes. It was Professor McGonagall.
As her sharp, scrutinizing gaze swept over the crowd of newly enrolled underage wizards, her eyes inevitably locked onto Alan standing quietly in the ranks. She didn't hesitate to shoot him a severely pointed, warning glare. Given her position within the Order of the Phoenix, Alan had absolutely no doubt that the 'glorious', highly violent details of his combat engagement in Knockturn Alley had already reached her ears.
"Professor McGonagall, the firs'-years are all yours," Hagrid announced, offering a respectful nod before turning and lumbering away to secure the grounds.
"Thank you, Hagrid. You have been a tremendous help," Professor McGonagall replied smoothly. Once the giant had departed, she turned her full, commanding attention to the nervous crowd. "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term feast is about to begin in the Great Hall, but before you can take your seats, you must first undergo the Sorting Ceremony. I will lead you inside shortly, but there are several rules you must understand first..."
Professor McGonagall proceeded to deliver a highly structured, comprehensive briefing regarding the operational parameters and behavioral expectations of the school. Alan listened intently for a long time, meticulously filtering the lengthy speech down to two primary tactical points: first, the mechanics of the Sorting Ceremony itself, and second, the logistical tracking system known as the House Cup. After being sorted into their respective factions, they were expected to maintain impeccable behavior. Meritorious actions would earn structural points for their designated house, while infractions and rule-breaking would result in point deductions. At the end of the year, the house with the highest accumulated score would be awarded the coveted House Cup.
Professor McGonagall finished her strict instructions with crisp efficiency. She surveyed the sea of excited, awe-struck faces, a rare, fleeting smile of satisfaction crossing her stern features, and instructed them to wait quietly in the hall for a few moments while she finalized the preparations.
The moment she stepped away, the atmosphere among the first-years immediately spiked with a volatile mixture of intense anxiety and raw excitement. They were overwhelmingly nervous because the vast majority of them possessed zero actionable intelligence regarding how the Sorting Ceremony actually functioned, deeply fearing they might somehow fail a magical aptitude test. Conversely, they were fiercely excited because they were desperate to be formally inducted into their factions and begin earning glory for their houses. Looking around, Alan noted that nearly every single child looked perfectly ready to blindly dedicate their lives to their new academic banners at a moment's notice.
Alan discreetly rolled his eyes, his cynical soldier's mindset completely failing to grasp the blind loyalty. *What do a bunch of pampered, eleven-year-old brats actually know about real honor and loyalty?* he thought dryly. *This isn't some chaotic street-gang turf war where the last man standing takes the prize.* He highly estimated that once the academic grind truly began, these naive kids would quickly realize that house points were incredibly difficult to earn. Quite frankly, it would be a tactical miracle if half of these mischievous, undisciplined children managed to avoid actively losing points for their respective houses on a daily basis.
"Alan, are you feeling nervous? The Sorting is about to begin any second now, and I honestly have absolutely no idea how it works. It's not going to be some sort of brutal written exam, is it? I spent the entire summer casually playing around and attending parties; I haven't memorized a single spell!" Vivian rambled, practically vibrating with nervous energy. She was clearly terrified and doing her absolute best to aggressively transfer that anxiety onto Alan.
Alan found her frantic state incredibly amusing. *You didn't spend the whole summer 'playing', you spent every waking hour ruthlessly gathering high-society gossip and digging up dirt on rival families,* he thought with a dry smirk. Nevertheless, he maintained his stoic composure and quietly offered her a few calm, reassuring words to keep her from completely panicking.
A few moments later, Professor McGonagall returned to the entrance hall and ordered them to form a single-file line. She led the procession toward a set of massive, ornate double doors that separated the entrance hall from the Great Hall. Flanking these doors were four towering, incredibly intricate glass hourglasses, each mounted on a pedestal. Exquisitely carved beneath them were the distinct animal crests of the four founders: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a serpent. Currently, the bottom bulbs of all four hourglasses were completely empty. Alan rapidly deduced that these massive artifacts were the physical mechanisms responsible for visually tracking and recording the elusive house points.
Professor McGonagall firmly pushed open the heavy double doors, leading the awestruck procession of first-years straight into the Great Hall.
Hogwarts' Great Hall was a tactical marvel—incredibly spacious and possessing a ceiling so remarkably high that, thanks to a complex environmental enchantment, it appeared completely invisible, perfectly mirroring the starry night sky outside. Thousands of glowing, wax candles floated freely in mid-air, casting a brilliant, warm illumination across the entire expanse of the room.
Inside the massive hall sat four incredibly long, heavy oak tables, already densely packed with hundreds of older students who were eagerly observing the new arrivals. Positioned at the very front of the hall, resting upon a simple four-legged wooden stool, sat a severely dilapidated, tattered, and heavily patched wizard's hat.
The exact moment the new students shuffled to a halt, a wide rip near the brim of the hat suddenly opened like a mouth, and the artifact began to loudly belt out an opening song in a horribly off-key, tone-deaf voice. By the time the line of first-years had fully assembled in front of the stool, the ancient hat still hadn't finished its musical number, howling out the remaining verses with a terrifying level of apparent relish.
To Alan's highly disciplined ears, the performance sounded less like a song and more like the agonizing wail of a dying animal. It was a complete acoustic disaster, so profoundly awful that it genuinely defied logical description. It was simply terrible to its very core.
After what felt like an eternity, the Sorting Hat finally concluded its torturous vocal performance, bowing to the hall as the older students erupted into polite, customary applause. Stepping forward with a long roll of parchment in hand, Professor McGonagall stood beside the stool and called out, "The Sorting Ceremony will now officially commence. When I call your name, you will step forward, place the hat upon your head, and sit on the stool to be sorted."
"Aliana Hinkley," she announced clearly, her voice echoing through the silence.
The quiet girl who had shared their enchanted boat was the very first candidate to be chosen. Aliana stepped out of the ranks, her face pale with evident trepidation, and carefully sat down on the wooden stool. Professor McGonagall stepped up and gently placed the tattered Sorting Hat directly onto her head.
"RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting Hat bellowed for the entire hall to hear, after hesitating for a mere handful of seconds.
Aliana instantly broke into a massive, relieved smile and hurried over to the Ravenclaw table, which had erupted into loud, welcoming cheers and thunderous applause.
From there, the Sorting Ceremony proceeded in a highly orderly, efficient fashion. Vivian Bulstrode's name was eventually called, and exactly as she had confidently predicted on the train, the hat instantly sorted her into Slytherin. Although her immediate family branch lacked the pure-blood status of the main line, the Bulstrode name carried immense, historical weight within the serpentine house.
Shortly after, Charles McKinnon was called up and predictably sorted into Gryffindor, a tactical placement that perfectly aligned with Alan's previous psychological assessment of the boy's brash, courageous nature. Furthermore, the arrogant Sampel Travers was also swiftly sorted into Slytherin. Alan couldn't help but take a moment to silently mourn for Vivian's future sanity; being trapped in the same common room and sharing classes with a radical, malicious supremacist like Travers was not going to be an easy operational deployment.
*Is this highly anticipated, supposedly terrifying Sorting Ceremony really nothing more than putting a talking, telepathic piece of headwear on your skull? How incredibly childish,* Alan complained internally, deeply unimpressed by the lack of physical or tactical testing.
Before he could analyze the security flaws of a telepathic hat reading his mind, Professor McGonagall's crisp voice cut through his thoughts, reading the next name on the parchment.
"Alan Wilson."